Unremembered
by LadyMarpesia
Summary: It was the boy with the beautiful green eyes that reminded her of pristine springtime grass, though she couldn't remember how and when she had seen it to make a comparison, but knew it was beautiful just the same. A boy like that, she had thought as her lips quivered and she cried so pathetically, should always be compared to beautiful things. Complete 2019.
1. Chapter 1

They had been chasing Potter and his friends all evening. Initially there had been talk that Potter would be leaving his muggle home later in the summer, but then word had caught that Potter was moving that night, and they had quickly leapt into action.

It was already a few weeks after school had been let out, and things were…different to say the least. The death of Albus Dumbledore had scared many, who could blame them? Dumbledore had always seemed so invincible, but now he was nothing.

They weren't sure where he was going, Potter that is, any number of semi-known locations or potential safe houses were on the table.

Pansy Parkinson and her long-time boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, had been tasked with patrolling the perimeter of the Weasley residence, or at least, the land surrounding it. Heavy wards were in place, and Pansy thought it was awfully simple for Potter to end up at the home of his best friend, Ron, but she wasn't exactly in the position to be asking questions. None of them were.

Draco had messed up a few weeks ago, and now they were both paying for it. To say that things were strained between the couple would be an understatement, tension and resentment piling up for months now, and only more severe as of late.

Draco was on his precious Firebolt, and she seated behind him. They circled aimlessly, using the wards as a guide, waiting for anything. A long time seemed to have gone by, and she was bored, her eyelids drooping. This was a failure.

"Look!" Draco jarred her into focus, pointing ahead of them to where they could make out figures racing through the muddy field and into the safety of the wards.

Draco took off toward them, streaking down low as fast as possible, aiming right for them. Spells began flying as he worked to dodge them. She tried to get her wand ready, but was struggling as they ducked and weaved. A stunner missed her by inches.

"Draco, we're outnumbered!" She hissed at him but he ignored her, a hell bent look of fury in his eyes.

A spell hit the back end of their broom, knocking them down several feet in the air. A rush of heat hit her back and she turned to see the broom bristles on fire. The fire was forcing the broom to lose any sense of buoyancy in the air, and they began dropping even faster.

"Draco we're going down!" She screamed as they plummeted toward the earth. Everything was happening so fast and she couldn't get her wand from her pocket as she clutched him. He was trying desperately to keep them aloft as the muddy ground loomed closer and closer.

"Fuck!" Draco shouted as they hit the ground hard, rolling over each other violently. Pansy felt something snap, blooming pain spreading across her abdomen, Draco half on top of her.

"Oh my God, Oh my God," Pansy cried out, clutching her ribs, feeling something protruding from her side. "My ribs, my ribs!"

Draco groaned and rolled off of her, a large laceration on his temple, blood oozing down the side of his face.

"Shit, Pans, you're bleeding," He put his hand on her side, "This is bad." In the distance they could hear the sounds of running feet and angry shouting.

"They're coming for us," his silver grey eyes widened and he looked back to her, trying to stop the blood from leaking from her side. "We have to get out of here."

Their eyes met, her face gray and twisted in pain and fear, his own skin sickly white and stricken. They both realized the same thing in that instant.

"You can still get away," she choked out, reaching up a shaking bloody hand to cup his face. "You're already hurt, you can't take us both. You can get away."

"I can't leave you," he insisted, holding the hand that was pressed to his face. "You know what they'll do to you."

"Obliviate me," she blurted out. Draco stared at her as if she had gone mad, but she could hear their pursuants closing in on them and she knew this was the best choice. "I mean it, Obliviate me. It'll keep everyone safe, if I don't know anything, they can't use it against me!"

They had a silent stare down.

"You're crazy," he choked out, "but I love you." He pressed his forehead to hers, squeezing her face in his hands, emotion clouding his eyes. They kissed quickly.

"Do it now, and run," she hissed. She felt him press his wand, shaking slightly, to her temple, all the while she stared up at him calmly, into those silver eyes that she would know anywhere, no matter where she was in the world or how long it had been.

"I'll find you!" He insisted, "I won't forget about you!"

She smiled despite herself.

" _Obliviate_."

* * *

 _ **Before**_ :

 _They were standing on the platform of 9 ¾, their first year at Hogwarts starting that very day. The Parkinson's and the Malfoy's, longtime friends, were seeing off their two children._

 _Pansy, small for her age with inky black hair and a slightly upturned nose she hadn't yet grown into, and Draco, pale features pointed and seemingly blended in with his white blond hair. Even then, as children, she had noticed that people seemed to hurry away from the sight of their families, keeping their heads down and eyes averted._

" _Be a good boy and represent the family well, Draco, and make sure you keep an eye out for Pansy, make sure no one gives her any trouble," Lucius told his son. "Protect her for her parents, that is your responsibility now...always." Their mothers positively swooned at that._

" _Of course I will," Draco took her hand, her tiny eleven year old hand, and did not let go of it until they were walking up to the sorting hat at Hogwarts that evening._


	2. Chapter 2

" _You can still get away," she choked out, reaching up a shaking bloody hand to cup his face. "You're already hurt, you can't take us both. You can get away."  
_

" _I can't leave you," he insisted, holding the hand that was pressed to his face. "You know what they'll do to you."_

" _Obliviate me," she blurted out. Draco stared at her as if she had gone mad, but she could hear their pursuants closing in on them and she knew this was the best choice. "I mean it, Obliviate me. It'll keep everyone safe, if I don't know anything, they can't use it against me!"_

 _They had a silent stare down._

" _You're crazy," he choked out, "but I love you." He pressed his forehead to hers, squeezing her face in his hands, emotion clouding his eyes. They kissed quickly._

" _Do it now, and run," she hissed. She felt him press his wand, shaking slightly, to her temple, all the while she stared up at him calmly, into those silver eyes that she would know anywhere, no matter where she was in the world or how long it had been._

" _I'll find you!" He insisted, "I won't forget about you!"_

 _She smiled despite herself._

" _Obliviate."_

* * *

"Pansy?" A voice stood over her. She blinked up at him in confusion, no one she recognized, but his tone…familiarity with her. She couldn't place him. Her side was hurting and she was bleeding. Pain. Wounded. She could understand those things, and she could remember that she should press her hand to her side to help clot the bleeding, but she couldn't remember if someone had told her that or if she had read it or what. He was waiting for an answer, she realized, and her lips parted but a cry of pain and fear and confusion escaped her.

This boy, with messy black hair and glasses, was looking at her and he had his wand pointed down at her and he was not friendly. She understood those things. Boy. Not friendly. Wand. She knew she was a witch, just as he was a wizard, but she didn't know how she knew that or why. Spells, she could remember them, but there was no context. No memories of learning them or casting them, just that she knew she could do them.****

"Are you alone?" The boy asked her, his voice rough. She blinked up at him.

"I don't know," she said, her voice shaking. Everything hurt, but she didn't know why. "I can't remember."

"You can't remember?" His tone was disbelief. Others joined him, standing over her.

"How did you get here?" A man growled at her. She flinched.

"I don't remember!"

"We need to move this somewhere else," another man with flaming red hair told the man who had just questioned her. "She's hurt as well, badly."

Something was shoved over her head, so she couldn't see, and her wand was taken from her pocket. Someone, a man by the feel of them, carried her. Every step jarred her side and she cried out, but no one said anything.

She didn't know where she was even when she was laid on something soft. A woman, she could hear her voice, began bossing people about, sending them to get things. Someone lifted her shirt and she flinched, but then something cool was applied to her skin, numbing everything, and she relaxed. Whatever they were doing to her, healing her, it was taking a toll on her energy, and before she knew it, she was unconscious.

* * *

When she awoke, not sure how long had passed, she could hear someone in the room with her.

"She's awake," a girl said and then someone else left the room. A few moments later, a person with heavier footfalls entered the room. She gathered that she was lying on a sofa, and the floor beneath them was hardwood.

"Can you sit up?" The voice was gruff and she nodded, sitting up and only wincing slightly, keeping a hand pressed to her healed side. "You'll come with us, we have some questions to ask you."

She nodded, and she felt arms on either side of her hoist her up, half-leading and half-dragging her. She did not protest.

They sat her in a chair and the hood was removed from her head. The room was dark, empty, save for two men in front of her, and three people behind her, but she couldn't make out their shapes very well.

The first man had shaggier brown hair and his clothing was worn, his face itself worn and tired and hostile. The other man had red hair, equally worn clothes, but seemed less threatening of the two.

The questioning began.

They had forced the truth serum down her throat, making her cough and gag, tears running down her face, sobbing brokenly, and pleading with them to stop, and they had bound her arms to the chair.

The one called Remus, with the brown hair, had stood over her, in that darkened room, and questioned her relentlessly. _She couldn't_ , she had sobbed and screamed, _remember anything._ Nothing, not her past, not where she came from, not even her name.

"Stop!" The boy who had found her first, the boy with the messy black hair and the crooked glasses, with those beautiful green eyes that reminded her of pristine springtime grass, though she couldn't remember how and when she had seen that to make that comparison, but knew it was beautiful just the same. _A boy like that_ , she had thought as her lips quivered and she cried so pathetically, _should always be compared to beautiful things_. "She can't remember, the serum says so itself. She doesn't know who she is, or what she is." The boy had been standing behind her, and now he stood beside her.

His words had caused a chill to run up her spine, sending signals of shocks to spring up like light bulbs turning on one by one, up her vertebrae and to the back of her neck and the tops of her arms, where the hairs stood up and she shivered.

He had released her from her bindings and she had sagged with relief and fear and exhaustion, her body inadvertently recognizing him as her greatest chance for survival, for protection, and she instinctively pressed against his side and her hand found his, squeezing it. He had looked down at her, flinching, and made to remove his hand but didn't, and she felt a pain in her chest when he looked at her like that, but immense _relief_ when he kept his hand caught in hers.

"What are we supposed to do with her now?" A girl with bushy hair spoke up, stepping forward from behind her, and crossing her arms across her chest. "We can't just release her and hope her memory doesn't come back, or that she'll be found and can reveal our location or plans."

The men turned to stare hard at her, mulling over the girls' words, and she felt unease creep up her spine.

* * *

"You'll have to stay up here," Harry told her, standing awkwardly in the center of an attic. There were boxes of junk piled up against the far wall, making space for a ratted armchair, side table, and a window alcove with a bench running beneath it. "For…safety reasons."

She felt a frown tug on her lips, at what his words suggested. It was quite obvious without being told that she was somehow "dangerous" and not to be trusted, but she didn't understand nor remember why, but found these…assumptions still stung anyway.

The girl with the big curly hair was walking the perimeter of the attic, wand aloft as she muttered incantations. _Wards_ , a voice told her in her head, a word she both remembered and understood from before, but with no reason behind it. _They are locking me in here, protecting themselves from me, and keeping me from escape._

The glass of the window was magically altered, becoming unbreakable, with the stability of concrete, which muted the light somewhat.

"Here, for sleeping," Hermione, that was her name, she remembered being told that, addressed her once she was completed with her task. The girl transfigured the armchair into a small bed, a cot, with a single pillow and blanket.

"Thank you," she felt herself say honestly, and she meant it. She hadn't been anticipating the luxury of a bed in prison.

Hermione and Harry both stared at her in confusion, blinking, and seemingly waiting for her to laugh or announce she was joking.

"It's probably not what you are used to," Hermione mumbled, her eyebrows tugging downwards into a slight scowl, her voice brittle.

"I'm not entirely sure of what I am used to," she replied evenly, "I can't remember."

"Well, someone will be back up in the morning to take you to the loo and to give you some food," Harry had stuffed his hands into his pockets. She felt disappointment that he had to leave, her one protector here in this place. "Is there anything else…"

His question was cut off by a sharp glare from Hermione.

"Just one thing," she sat on the cot, uneasily. "Can you remind me what my name is again?"

"Pansy," Harry told her quietly. "Your name is Pansy."

* * *

****AN: (Draco obliviated her into a state of induced-Retrograde Amnesia. Retrograde Amnesia is when you are unable to recall memories leading up to the point of damage. However, Retrograde Amnesia can eventually be reversed, if a person is able to be exposed to old memories. With Retrograde Amnesia, Episodic memory is usually what is damaged, whereas Semantic memory remains intact. This is the case with Pansy. Pansy understands magic and that she can perform it, she just does not remember a specific event when she did it (semantic) or another example: Pansy understands how to eat, talk, walk, etc., but does not have a memory of a specific instance doing so. Those specific memories are episodic memories.


	3. Chapter 3

It became sweltering in an attic during the summer months, she had quickly learned. Heat seemed to be funneling into the small room, trapped inside with no ventilation or hope of a draft or breeze. It was midmorning, and no one had come to relieve her yet.

Sweat was dripping down her body, covering her in a sheet that did nothing in the form of relief from the heat. She had been wearing a sweater and trousers, tall black boots, when she had been found by Harry and the others in that muddy field, and now they were nothing but misery. She had shed her boots and sucks almost instantly, and after battling with herself for a few minutes, she shed her sweater as well. The removal of the sweater helped, leaving her in her thin undergarments and trousers. She was tempted to remove her pants next, but was holding off.

She groaned, lying on the floor beneath her cot, cheeks pressed to the dusty floor in hopes of getting some sense of coolness, her tongue seeking out some sort of moisture in her dry mouth. She wanted nothing more than a glass of water.

Thundering feet up the staircase jolted her out of her daze, and she looked up to see Harry standing over.

"Has no one come up to check on your this morning?" He cried, looking horrified. She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Please…water…" she rasped, too hot and weak to even feel embarrassed that she was half-dressed.

"I'm sorry," He bent beside her and conjured a cup, filling it with a water charm and holding it to her lips. "I didn't realize until just now that no one had come for you. Merlin it's hot up here."

She drank down the water greedily and he gave her more. While she was drinking her second cup, he began casting cooling charms around the attic, and she could feel the heat physically dissipating from the room.

"Thank you," she murmured after she had drained the cup.

"Think nothing of it, I'm going to fetch you some food, and then I'll get them to let you shower after that." He stood up, not necessarily looking at her, but she could see the expression on his face incredibly was bothered.

Harry left her then and returned with a plate of food, which she ate quickly, absolutely starved. She was surprised and grateful that it actually tasted really good. He sat on the floor across from her, deep in thought.

"How long am I going to be kept up here?" She asked, pulling on her sweater, finally cooled down.

He hesitated.

"I don't really know, probably a while…we don't really know what we are going to do with you, yet."

"Who is this…we? There's a bunch of you?"

She watched the walls close up at that, and he looked away from her. "You don't remember who you are, but you weren't very…"

"Good?" She asked him hesitantly. He nodded at that. "It's hard to imagine myself as someone bad. Are you all good? You seem good."

"We try to be good," he sighed, standing up. "Come on, I'll take you to the shower. Hermione is going to stand in there with you."

"Okay," she stood up as well.

* * *

In the shower, which was warm and efficient, she felt an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. Tears clouded her eyes as the water streamed down on her, and she hugged herself. She couldn't remember anything from before, just random facts and knowledge, and everyone kept telling her that she had been a bad guy.

 _A bad guy with what?_

She didn't understand why they were keeping her prisoner, what they were protecting everyone from…what was she capable of? Who had she been?

A sob escaped her lips and she flinched.

"Er, Pansy, are you…okay?" Hermione asked her slowly from where she stood on the other side of the curtain.

"I don't know who I am," she murmured quietly, loud enough for the girl to hear but quiet enough that it didn't hurt so much saying it out loud.

Hermione was silent.

* * *

After Harry's visit that morning, he must have made sure the others were on top of checking on her, because Hermione came later that evening to take her to the loo and to feed her, and they had taken to leaving a pitcher of water and cup with her.

After her shower breakdown, she had spent the remainder of the day lying on her cot, staring a the ceiling, and trying to remember something… _anything_. In the bathroom, she had looked in the mirror, and had been even more disheartened that she hadn't recognized herself.

Creamy colored skin, a slightly upturned nose, and muted hazel eyes. Her hair was black, and…interestingly enough, had green streaks running through the ends of it. Her hair was cut to slightly below her shoulders, straight, but had a slight wave at the ends. Green. Was that her favorite color? Was there a specific reason she had put the green in? What did it mean?

What did any of this mean? What had happened to her?

* * *

 ** _Before:_**

" _Pansy will handle it," Draco wrapped his arm around her narrow waist, drawing her closer to him. He reached out and idly stroked her collarbone, his finger dipping low across her chest before twining around a streak of green hair. "Won't you, darling? You'll take care of that little problem, won't you?"_

 _She had trembled at his touch and that dangerous tone he used whenever he was turned on, he knew what it did to her._

" _Of course my love," she had purred, feeling almost drunk from his attention, his touch, his adoration, as he nibbled on her earlobe, forcing her to gasp._

" _Then go on, I'll make sure to thank you extra well after," Draco had helped her stand up in her delirious lust-ridden state, giving her a swat on the bum. She had smiled, drawing her wand, and exiting the train car as she made her way toward her victim._

* * *

"I brought you this um, box," Harry said several days after coming to her rescue with the water. He was standing awkwardly, holding a box in his arms and shifting from foot to foot. She lifted her head from her pillow, eyeing him blankly. All of her time was trying to desperately remember anything of her past, and it was wearing down on her.

"What's in it?"

"Some old books, and I think some pencils and papers and maybe some other stuff. It's some of Ginny's old things," he explained, sitting it on the floor.

"Ginny?" She asked, confused.

"A girl that lives here, she is the daughter of the man with the red hair that…er, talked to you." She expected him to leave, but he sat on the floor against the wall like he had before.

Curiosity got the best of her and she slid off the bed, sitting beside the box and opening the lid to peek inside.

Books, bits of paper, and some colored wax bits she recognized as crayons…a pallet of water color paint.

Paint.

Her brain itched at that.

"I…I used to paint," she breathed, holding up the set. He stared at her. "I just remembered…I remember…sitting by some water and painting on a canvas. I don't remember where, though. It's like, that one moment…no context."

"What else have you remembered?" He asked her quietly, fiddling with his glasses.

"That's the first memory I can remember," she said, running her fingers across the paint set container. "I've been trying so hard, and it just came to me now, and it's not even anything significant."

He was silent, watching her mull over the new development.

"Harry, did you know me before?"

"Yes," he sighed. "We went to school together."

"The school name?"

"Hogwarts."

She thought for a moment. "Nothing. That name triggers nothing." She sighed, setting the paint set back in the box. "I suppose we weren't ever friends."

"Not ever," he agreed, wincing. "I never knew you to paint either, but then again, we didn't talk much, and if we did…it wasn't exactly friendly conversation."

"That's a pity," she wandered over to the window. The pane was so reinforced and thick she couldn't see outside, only knowing it was daytime by the filtered light that forced its way through.

"Why?"

"I like you, you're nice to me, even though we were enemies. We were enemies, right?"

"Yeah, I guess we were," he stood up. "This box should help keep you entertained, Hermione will be by later to check on you."

"Sure," she shrugged. "Thanks for the stuff."

* * *

"What are you painting, now?" Harry stood over her. She was sprawled across the floor, working on some of the last bits of paper she had left. It had been a couple days since she had been given the box of junk.

"I'm painting Hermione," she answered, not looking up. "I can't remember landscapes or anything else of relevance, so I'm painting what I have seen so far. Which is up here, the hall and the bathroom, and you and Hermione mostly."

"Can I sit with you for a while?" He asked her and she nodded. He sat in his usual spot.

"Anything troubling you?" She asked after a moment. His silence was tense, thoughtful.

"There's just, uh, a lot going on. A lot of pressure from different places all at once." Harry answered finally. She flicked her eyes over to him at that, studying him. He did look worn, like he hadn't gotten much sleep. Like usual, she was drawn to his eyes, brilliant green…absolutely beautiful.

"From the outside world?" She ventured and he nodded. "Is there…is it a war?"

"Yes," he said. He watched her close her eyes, trying to see if that information would trigger anything for her. She opened her eyes after a moment and said nothing about it.

"Is your side winning?"

"No," he ran his hand through his already messy hair. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. The shirt was black and had some sort of white symbol, "Anarchy" printed underneath it.

"Is…is it my side that you are opposing?" She put her paintbrush down and went to sit on the seat under the window, her stomach in knots.

"You really don't know who you are," he breathed, staring at her, not a question, but a realization that still, after all these days, she was yet a blank canvas.

"I don't remember who I was before," she corrected from her spot beside the window, "I only know who I am now." The light, warped as it was, was filtered through the panes of glass and if she squeezed her eyes shut tight enough and pressed her temple to the enforced barrier, she could almost feel warmth pouring in.

"I know I am here with you, with all of you, though I don't know how many, and that you are hiding from something. Something that I was connected to," she looked to him for confirmation and he nodded before she continued.

"I know that I like you, and Hermione. I like your light, the way goodness seems to pour from you." She smiled despite herself. "I know that I am a prisoner, I don't pretend otherwise, and that I do not deserve this kindness given to me, but I just can't remember for the life of me why I don't, why I shouldn't."

"All humans deserve kindness and compassion," he told her uneasily, continually unnerved by her honesty, her blankness…newness.

"Would I have been given it, if I really could remember?" She asked innocently. He had turned from her then, unable to meet her eyes.

"I don't know," he said finally. "I would like to think so, but…"

"Not all things are easily forgiven," she had finished for him quietly. There was no pain in her voice, nor her murky hazel eyes, but her words haunted him all the same.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry began visiting her every day, often bringing her more paper and sometimes, pictures of landscapes, which she recreated, but could not identify.

He seemed to be growing more at ease with her, and he talked a little more freely with her. He explained that they were at a home, where his friend and his family lived, where he and Hermione did as well. Other people, members of their side, stopped by often.

The war was heating up, tensions were high…they were trying to hold on to any sense of normalcy they could.

"Harry?" She asked one day. She was stretched across the window seat, and he was sitting on her cot, relaxed. He had helped her pin up her paintings all over the attic, which made it a lot less bleak.

"Hmm?"

"Do you have an idea on why I would put green streaks in my hair?" She fingers one of the strands in question. The color was fading, making them look a very light sea foam blue against all the black.

He chuckled. "Your house at school, you remember I told you about the four houses, right?" She nodded. "Your house was Slytherin, the colors are green and silver."

"Oh," she nodded. "Was it probably my favorite color?"

"Perhaps," he actually smiled at her.

"Hmm, well it is my favorite color now, anyway."

"Really? How come?"

"Your eyes," she felt her cheeks grow red. "I like the color of your eyes."

He smiled, looking away. She hid her face behind a curtain of her hair, waiting for her embarrassment to subside.

"Pansy, do you want to take a walk outside?" He asked suddenly. She turned to him, eagerness and hope bubbling up inside of her. "Only for a few minutes of course."

"Yes-yes please!" She stood up quickly. He nodded and waited for her to put on her boots. He gripped her forearm with enough pressure to retain a hold on her, but not forceful enough to be unpleasant or intimidating. He led her down the stairs, to the hallway she passed through to go to the loo with Hermione.

She observed everything carefully, taking her time, and he seemed to be moving slowly so she could drink everything in. He led her down more stairs, and her eyes lit up, seeing a new part of the house.

The house was small, well-worn in, but obviously loved. Hermione was sitting on the floor of the sitting room, at a low table, a boy with red hair beside her. Books and papers were spread out all over the surface.

"Uh, Harry?" Hermione's eyes widened at the sight of Pansy downstairs.

"It's fine. I'm taking her for a quick walk around the garden, it's fine," Harry told her quickly, giving her a look.

The boy looked equally as confused, but said nothing, his eyes darting toward a different room. "I'll uh, keep mum occupied for a bit? Just uh, not too long outside, yeah?" He got up and left.

Harry thanked him, nodding. He led her toward the door, and Hermione followed slowly behind them.

Harry opened the door and she had to shield her eyes from the bright light, but a smile spread across her face just the same as she breathed in the fresh air.

Stepping out, she was greeted by pleasant sunshine, a calm summer day. He led her toward a walled in garden, Hermione remaining in the doorway, watching them.

"This is the garden," he told her. "It might give you some ideas for more paintings."

She smiled at him, her eyes drinking everything in. There were vegetables and herbs and flowers. Her eyes caught side of a plant, fruit hanging from it. Something flashed in her mind as Harry plucked at the fruit.

"Those are strawberries," she murmured quietly, eyes slightly wide. "I'm allergic to them."

He turned to look at her at that, waiting for her to elaborate. "I remember…sitting at a big table in a noisy room. And someone put a strawberry on my plate, I don't know who, and…I told them to take it away, because I was allergic. The hand was pale, I don't remember if it was a girl or boy. The room was loud, it sounded like children."

"Probably a meal at Hogwarts," He said after a moment, nodding and dropping the fruit, cleaning his hands with a quick charm. "You would have been sitting with other students from your house."

She didn't say anything to that; she just took a step forward, prompting him to continue leading her around the garden.

* * *

Harry began taking her outside everyday. Sometimes it was just him, but other times, Hermione and Ron, their friend with the red hair, would accompany them. It was pleasant, no one was mean to her, and she and Harry were falling even more into a friendly arrangement.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione began to slowly talk more freely in front of her. She gathered that they were preparing for something, and that not everyone on their side was open to it.

"You're leaving soon," she had said, making him pause in the doorway after dropping her off in the attic after one such afternoon visit outside with Hermione and Ron.

"Yes. I must."

"And I will believe it, that you must," she had felt her voice waver. "It will be the only thing that will make that hurt less, when it comes."

"I'll make sure you are looked after," He said, his smile falling. "We'll be back…eventually."

"I'll miss you."

He turned to leave once more. "I'll miss you, too."

* * *

He told her she could come eat dinner with Ron, Hermione, and the others one evening. She couldn't even muster up some sort of embarrassment to try to hide the excitement that spread across her face.

"Really, it'll be alright?" She asked, standing up and smoothing her hair.

"It's uh, actually my birthday today. It's my birthday dinner, and I want you to come."

"I didn't know it was your birthday," she frowned, feeling bad. "Happy Birthday, Harry! I would love to come to the dinner tonight."

"Great," he smiled, "and it's okay, I don't really make a big deal out of it." She nodded, smiling once more.

"One of us will come get you later," he said and she agreed. He left then, and she immediately went to work, pulling out her paint set and paper.

* * *

A few hours later, Hermione appeared.

"Hey, so um, I thought you might want something new to wear," the girl was holding a bundle of clothing. "I mean, it's not new, it's some of my stuff…but you've been wearing the same thing, and it's so warm out tonight…"

"Thank you, that would be great," Pansy grinned eagerly, taking the clothing from her. Hermione overcame her initial awkwardness and they decided on a simple white cotton sundress.

"Much better," Hermione nodded after Pansy had been dressed. "I have some shoes that will go with it, we can charm it to fit."

A few minutes later, Pansy and Hermione entered the garden, where Harry's birthday dinner was being held, and she felt fresh and pretty.

A long table was set up, and people were beginning to sit. Many of them looked at her, some forced a friendly smile, but others frowned or glared.

"Over here!" Ron called out from where he sat at the end, Harry sitting at the head of the table next to him. She sat on his other side, Hermione beside her. A girl with red hair, Ron's sister Ginny, joined them soon after, followed by two identical twin ginger boys, other brothers, Fred and George.

She met Ron's parents officially that night. His mother was Molly, who had healed her. His father was Arthur, who had questioned her with Remus, but was running late from work. Remus was there as well, but said nothing to her.

Just as they were preparing to eat, a silver spectral image of a weasel appeared from thin air. "On my way, the Minister of Magic will be joining me as well."

That set everyone into a frenzy. Molly turned toward their end of the table, giving a pointed look toward Pansy.

"Come on Pansy, it's best that you be inside," Ginny stood up, taking her arm. Harry sent her a look that could only be one of sorry, apologetic, and she let herself be led back up to her attic. Ginny mumbling her apology and leaving her alone.

Tears threatened her eyes as she kicked off her shoes, sinking onto the bed. She was sick of being a prisoner, of being a danger. She walked over to the painting she had made for Harry, one of him in the garden, and balled it up in her hand. Sinking onto the window seat, she sat, knees to her chest, and cried.

Harry found her some time later, bringing a plate of food and cake with him. He set it beside her, before noticing her red-rimmed eyes. He moved the food over and sat next her, placing a hand on her knee.

"I'm sorry," he said gently. "I didn't know…I really wanted you there."

"It's okay, I get it," she wiped at her eye roughly, bitterness in her voice. "I'm dangerous."

"I don't think you are," he said quietly. She looked at him in confusion.

"But, you all treat me like…"

"That's starting to seem a little absurd nowadays, enough time has passed…you aren't the same person you were before," he reached out and stroked her hair. "I'm working on getting the permission to let you walk around the house freely."

"Harry, you're leaving me behind," she frowned, "how do you know it's still going to be okay for me here when you are gone?"

"Tomorrow Bill, Ron's oldest brother, is getting married here. We've told you about it, yeah?" she agreed. "We can figure out for a way for you to come. I'll have to wear a disguise anyway, I'm sure we can figure something for you. If you come, and everything goes alright, the others will have to trust you."

She stared at him for a moment before nodding, relaxing her shoulders.

"I missed you birthday," she apologized again.

"Technically, my birthday isn't over," he replied, a grin on his face.

"I was going to give you something, but…" she bit her lip. "I don't know what else to give you."

"You don't have to give me anything," he assured her.

"Nonsense," she insisted. A thought crossed her mind, and before she could think it over, she bridged the gap and pressed her lips against his. After a moment, she moved her lips a breath away from his, frozen.

"Happy Birthday, Harry," she whispered.

"That works just as well, too," he whispered back, his hand twining through her hair as his lips covered hers once more.

A memory flashed in her mind, but she said nothing.

Remembered:

 _"Happy Birthday, Pansy," a boy with silver blond hair said, pulling her into his arms. "This year will be the best yet, I'm sure of it." His hands wove through her hair, tugging on those green streaks he loved so much.  
_

 _"Thank you, my love," she smiled and let herself be pulled into a kiss._

* * *

It was only when Harry had left for the evening when she was lying in bed did she ponder over the boy with the silver blond hair…the one who had kissed her, but whom she did not remember.


	5. Chapter 5

They dressed her in a simple black cocktail dress, black flats charmed to fit, and gave her a piece of hair from one of the brides' Veela cousins. Veela's, full-blooded ones that is, had a tendency to be very similar looking.

They made Harry into a redheaded boy, hair from a muggle boy in the nearby village. He wasn't handsome, but if she looked deep into his eyes, she could still see Harry in there.

"Is this stupid?" He asked her, and she shook her head, taking his hand in her eyes. If anyone from his group noticed or were bothered by their displays of affection, no one commented on it.

She sat beside him during the warm ceremony, surrounded by strangers, all the while ignoring the prickling hairs on the back of her neck standing up. She didn't know what it was.

She didn't want to know.

Nothing could get in the way of proving to Harry, proving to the others, that she was not the same person, whoever she was, that they all hated and feared.

At the reception, Harry clumsily twirled her around the dance floor and she smiled, enjoying the time to just be.

"It's not believable, the two of them," Ron complained to Hermione from where they sat on the dance floor.

"You mean a Veela and a chubby ginger boy, or Harry Potter and Pansy Parkinson?" Hermione remarked idly. She hated to admit it, but this new Pansy had begun to grow on her. She just hoped they weren't tearing down their defenses only to be stabbed in the back.

"Either one, take your pick," Ron retorted, picking up his bottle of butterbeer.

"It's rather poetic, I think," Hermione responded after a moment of silence as they watched the pair, who slowly, lazily revolved around the dance floor, lost in their own little world. "The good guy and the bad girl, falling in love, reforming."

"I just think she's trouble, in some shape or form," Ron sighed as Hermione simply shrugged.

"I want you to stay here," he said before he can even think about what he was saying.

They were wrapped in each other's arms, lost to everyone else at the wedding reception. He could feel it in his gut that their time together was running short. Whether it be minutes, hours, days…he would be gone soon. He could feel it.

* * *

"I want you to continue proving everyone wrong, continue being who I know you are. I'll come back here, for you, as soon as I can."

"What happens to me, Harry?" She pressed her face against his neck, she could feel her body twitching, the surest sign that soon her polyjuice position would be fading away and she would be her old self again. "When the war is over and you are a hero, and I am still me who can't remember anything? Where do I get to go, or do I remain up there, in the attic?"

"You'll be free," his hands wrapped around her wrists, contradicting his words, but not in a way that caused her fear, but something else, stirring in the lower pits of her abdomen. She pressed her forehead against his and brushed his lips with hers. "You can be anything you want to be, do anything you want, and I'll be there, with you."

"Do you promise?" She whispered.

"I promise," he told her.

A silvery spectral form of a lynx appeared in the center of the dance floor, causing the guests to shrink back and gasp, and Harry to clutch her forearms tightly, mouth setting in a grim line.

"The ministry has fallen, the minister is dead. They are coming," a deep voice sounded from the mouth of the patronus, which vanished with a _pop_.

At once everyone began running, as the _crack crack crack_ of apparition sounded outside the tent.

"Pansy, run," Harry told her urgently, pulling his wand from her robes. She sent him a terrified look, startled. "Go on, I'll be right behind you," he urged her. She nodded and slipped off her shoes, forcing her way through the crowd. She could feel him behind her, shouting for Ron and Hermione.

Spells began raining down outside of the tent and a stinging hex startled her, forcing her into a run as she darted and squeezed past fleeing guests. The whisper and twitch of the tall grass covered marsh on the edge of the property called to her, and she sprinted toward it. Her lungs were burning and squeezing, the surest sign that her polyjuice was fading away and she was returning to her own form.

"PANSY!" A voice shouted in the distance and she turned to look for Harry behind her, only to see a dark masked form gaining on her. She shrieked and threw herself into the grass and muddy muck, splashing through the water and pushing toward the center of the marsh.

"Run, Pansy, run!" Harry was shouting, and she could hear running all around her. Her lungs were burning from exertion and her breath was coming out in quick bursts, stinging.

"Pansy!" Another voice shouted and she whipped her around, where did she know that voice?

She was going to collapse, she thought as she broke out into the center of the marsh, where the water was deeper and the tall grass and reeds had stopped, forming a round clearing.

She was nearly knee deep in the murky water and she scrambled on top of an embankment, noting that everything had gone silent save for shouts and bursts of light in the distance toward the wedding tent.

She didn't dare call out Harry's name, for she knew there were others in the marsh with her…enemies…one time they had been her allies. She knew better. She wished she had a wand, but that had never been returned to her.

"Pansy," a voice, unfamiliar yet oh so familiar, a voice that wasn't Harry's or anyone that lived at the house called to her. She revolved slowly on the spot, watching as a young blond haired man made his way through the fronds toward her.

"I've missed you, Pansy," he spoke slowly, as if not to startle her as tumultuous memories flooded her mind and she nearly cried from the overwhelming onslaught of it all.

She opened her mouth to speak when Harry arrived.


	6. Chapter 6

Her eyes met the cold gray eyes of the man standing before her, in that marsh, his wand pointed – not at her but somewhere close to her. Those eyes…recognition flashed through her and she opened her mouth to speak as Harry arrived, moving to stand beside her.

"Pansy, my darling," the young man had smiled at her, a warmth that did wonders to his cold eyes. "I have been tearing apart the universe, looking for you. It's time to come home." He was beautiful, in a cold way, like a fallen angel or a statue come to life. She knew if she were to lay a finger against him, his skin would feel hard and hollow. Whereas, when she touched Harry, she could feel the warmth and life radiating in his bones and blood.

In his eyes that held her captive, she remembered sitting beside him on the train, dressed in her school uniform, and feeling his hand resting on her knee. She remembered sharing meals and secrets, the delicious feeling of "us against them" and the taboo of their darkness, of their alliances.

She remembered holidays with his family and hers, her little sister laughing in the snow beside her— _she had parents and a little sister_! She remembered their first kiss, she and Draco, because that was _his name_ , and she remembered her father telling her that she could marry him if she wanted. And she had _wanted_. Already in her chest, she could feel this burning emotion, ardent feverish mad love, a love that threatened to send hysterical giggles and sobs bursting from her lips at any moment.

She remembered it now. She had loved Draco Malfoy to the point of madness, had and would have done anything for him. His darkness had been intoxicating to her, a delicious thrill, an ending she knew was going to hurt and end badly.

Her eyes flickered to the man beside her, the man who had found her huddled on the grounds, had protected her even when he had hated her, and who had become so much more than that.

Harry was her lifeline in this world, his goodness, his courage, his trusting light, it captivated her and burned her alive. Harry was all words and touches, he talked with his hands and she knew he would love with his hands, and he believed in her, when no one else did.

Draco didn't believe in her, not really, not in the way that he should. He had taken her for granted, she could remember that, and would only ever miss her when she was gone, and gone not by his own volition.

Like now.

Yes, she clenched her jaw as tears threatened to spill, yes, she loved him, even now. That was the honest truth. However, looking at Harry beside her, she knew she loved him, too. Pansy worried if that would be enough, if it would ever be enough?

"I'm sorry," her voice was soft, crushed, but audible. "I don't know who you are."

Members of The Order of The Phoenix arrived then, wands drawn, that's who they were now that she remembered. Draco had looked at her, horrified, stricken, and he reached for her as if he could pull her to him, only to seem to think better of it, and he dissolved quickly in disapparation.

He had crushed her to him, holding her against him, forcefully, and she had buried her face into his neck, her body trembling.

"Harry," Hermione had said softly, hesitantly from behind them. "We have to get out of here."

He had pulled back and stared down at her face, ignoring Hermione beside him. His eyes were searching, and her lip trembled and she pressed her forehead against his.

"How about an hour or so, yeah?" Ron had spoken up, amicably, understanding in his voice. He had taken Hermione by the hand and led her inside after Harry had all but carried her into the house and up the stairs to her attic.

They hadn't talked as they had ravaged each other, mouths bruising and biting and soothing as they attacked and conquered. She had stripped herself bare for him, both physically and emotionally, and let him take from her what he was so desperately, so ferociously searching for.

Sweat covered their bodies as they moved toward an ending, toward a fall from grace, and as he seared her mouth with his kiss her eyes found his and she knew it without having to hear him say the words. She had fallen apart, sobbing his name almost deliriously, and he had stilled moments later, her name a sharp rasp on his tongue.

Moments passed as they lay in a trembling mess of heat and sweat, and even then she could feel tears leaking from her eyes down her face. At last he had pressed his lips to her temple, so tender and soft, and had sat up, his back to her and legs hanging over the edge of the bed. He was gathering himself, elbows resting on his knees and his head tucked down, trying to regain his breath, his composure.

"You remember," he said, his voice hollow.

Tears had glittered and burned from her eyes as a wretched cry heaved from her throat. "Yes…I remember everything."

"I saw it, in your eyes," he murmured. "Your eyes, I always wondered why they look so different now, but I couldn't make out why it was. Your eyes are greenish now, like moss almost, but when you looked at him…they're dark…the pupils are blown…like a…"

"Like an addict," she answered for him, and they were thrown into silence. She could feel herself crumbling in the span of time when they were both unable to speak.

"Harry," her plea was choked. "I didn't – I never – this wasn't what I – you have to…" her voice faltered as she fought for words to explain this, any of this. Her heart was pounding in her chest painfully and fear and anxiety poured from her body in waves as she fought to understand what exactly what going through her body, her heart, her senses.

"I never wanted this to happen, to remember. I wish I could go back, I wish I could stay away from there, and never see him again, never remember."

"But you did see him, Pansy, and now you do remember, and now I don't know what to do," his voice was broken, sad, devastated. His shoulders shook.

"I love him," she said truthfully, despite how much it hurt. "I remember that…but Harry, I don't love him like I love you."

He turned to her then, and she could see the pain and anguish on his face. His glasses were off and his eyes, so emerald and pure, seemed darker.

"Is that enough though? To love me more?"

"It has to be," her hysterical answer gurgled out. "I chose you, I knew what I was doing. I lied, for you."

"I don't want you to be a prisoner here," he ground out, "I want to hate who you were, Pansy, I truly do, but I can't hate anything about you and I don't want you to feel like you have to be something that you are not, even if that person has to be that person again, away from me."

They were at the ending she knew they had been hurtling toward all this time. Her heart was raw when she answered.

"I am a very bad person, Harry. I have done a lot of horrible things that you have no business ever being associated it with. I am so selfish, and I am cruel, and I cling to you and your goodness like a moth to flame. That's enough for me, to love you and be around this, you and everyone else, it's enough to be selfish and forsake everything else."

"Your family," he protested, "Malfoy…the two of you didn't break up, and it's not like you just stopped loving each other."

"I love them, all of them," she agreed, "but I don't love what they do and I can't make them change their minds or themselves unless they want to. Believe it or not, Harry, you didn't make me change— I changed on my own. The girl from before, who I was, she's inside me still. I'm not going to be completely the girl I have been the past few months, but I'm not the girl from before either. I'm changing everyday still."

"So this…this will be enough for you? To be with me, to walk away from everyone else?" She could almost taste the hope in his voice.

"It is enough," she said simply, honestly. "I will continue pretending like I don't remember, for everyone else, and I will continue proving them wrong and proving you right…and it will be enough."

He crawled across the bed to her, pulling her to him, and they lost themselves in all-consuming kiss.

They broke apart, panting, and desperate, but entirely out of time.

"Do you love me because of who I am now," she whispered, terrified but asking despite herself, "or do you love me because I remember what I did before and I'm walking away from it?"

"I love you because of both," He kissed her gently, sweetly, as if she were fragile and could fall apart beneath him. "I love you because you are here, you are you, you are taking the power of your life in your hands, and deciding for yourself."

"You're leaving now," she murmured after a few more blessed minutes of peace and silence, clutching each other almost desperately.

"Yes," he said as her lips brushed against the scar on his forehead. He buried his nose into her silky inky hair, inhaling her as if he could memorize her completely. "I will be gone, I don't know how long, but I will come back."

There was an unspoken question in the air hanging between them, and she answered it anyway, "but I will be waiting here for when ever it is that you do come back."


	7. Chapter 7

Harry had been gone for weeks. She moved about The Burrow, as they called it, quietly as she waited for him. It was just she, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and the occasional Weasley kid or Order member who dropped by now.

Harry had left, and his last request, backed by both Ron and Hermione, was that she have her wand back, and that she be allowed free range of the house.

Mrs. Weasley had taken to her rather quickly, surprisingly quick, as Pansy was keen to fill the time with chores and help around the house, with trying to find _something_ to do other than worry worry worry about Harry.

They had heard nothing, for a very long time.

At night, she returned to her attic room. It reminded her of him, despite it's original intent to be her prison when she had first arrived in the beginning of the summer. Her dreams were a constant worry of if Harry was safe, if he was evading Voldemort and his followers, the people she had turned her back from.

And she was plagued by memories of Draco.

" _I don't want to do this anymore," she had sobbed. It was a cold January day and Draco was hell bent on getting that wretched cupboard to work and he was irritable and explosive and she almost felt like she hated him most days._

" _It doesn't matter what you want, does it?" His angry dark eyes found hers, and he stood up from where he had bent over a cabinet. She could practically see the steam pouring out of his nostrils as he threw his hands out, knocking over a stack of chairs violently. "You can't back out now!"_

" _This is to much this time, Draco, and you know it!" Angry tears streaked down her face. "This is too much!"_

" _Well then maybe I should find someone else who is strong enough to handle it!" He had hissed, looming over her. "Someone who doesn't run away just because things have gotten a little hard!"_

 _Her mouth dropped open and she shrieked, stomping forward and shoving at his chest. "Who else is crazy enough to love you? Tell me! No other girl could stomach things I have done for you!"_

" _Exactly," he growled, turning away from her to focus on his work. "Get the fuck over yourself and find me that spell book I asked for, and come back only when you aren't going to be so fucking unbearable."_

* * *

" _Pansy will handle it," Draco wrapped his arm around her narrow waist, drawing her closer to him. He reached out and idly stroked her collarbone, his finger dipping low across her chest. "Won't you, darling? You'll take care of that little problem, won't you?"_

 _She had trembled at his touch and that dangerous tone he used whenever he was turned on, he knew what it did to her._

" _Of course my love," she had purred, feeling almost drunk, as he nibbled on her earlobe, forcing her to gasp._

" _Then go on, I'll make sure to thank you extra well after," Draco had helped her stand up in her delirious lust-ridden state, giving her a swat on the bum. She had smiled, drawing her wand, and exiting the train car as she made her way toward her victim._

* * *

In the late winter, they asked her to seek shelter with Ron's older brother, the one who had been married, Bill, and his wife the half-Veela, Fleur.

Mr. Weasley was being tailed from his work at the ministry, and they had noticed a presence around the wards set up around the home.

She had agreed reluctantly, she told Harry she would be there waiting after all, but Mrs. Weasley had assured her gently that she would be able to come back soon.

So she had gone, and had been surprised to find Ron meekly avoiding her gaze at the kitchen table.

Weasley had made himself into a coward, and she stifled the urge to glare at him, which is what she would have done before. Now she just looked at him with pity and as much revulsion as she could muster, because the new Pansy didn't like disloyalty, especially in regards to Harry.

"I guess you can see I messed up," Ron caught her off guard one night in the hallway between their rooms.

"You left them," she said simply.

"It was complicated," he protested and she raised her eyebrows.

"I would give anything to be able to go with Harry and help him, is all I'm going to say," she said finally, choosing her words carefully. "You threw that away."

"I was a jealous fool," he admitted, tips of his ears turning red.

"So just make it better, then," she said before returning to her room.

Ron left a day later, without a trace. She had smiled.

* * *

It was early spring when Harry, Ron, Hermione, a goblin, a wand maker, Dean Thomas, and Luna Lovegood from school arrived outside the cottage on the shore where Bill and Fleur were living.

Pansy had run across the sand toward them, only skittering to a stop when she saw that Harry held a dead house elf in his arms, looking devastated.

"Harry," she said tentatively, and he looked up, tears in his eyes, and handed the body of the elf to Hermione before standing. He strode over to her quickly, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug, burying his face into her neck as he sobbed silently.

"I'm sorry," she ran her hands soothingly through his long hair.

"I missed you," his lips pressed against the pulse in her neck.

Harry was certainly changed from his time away from her; she worried that it would be different after so much time apart, but if anything it seemed to drive them closer together. He was silent, haunted almost, and it worried her, but when she brought up her concern he brushed it aside and would pull her back down into the bed they had taken to sharing.

"I thought about you every day," he murmured one late night. He had awoken them from a nightmare.

"I missed you every second," she kissed his head from where he was resting against her breasts.

"You know we are leaving again, right?" He asked her and she nodded against him.

"I told you I would wait, didn't I?" she said gently and watched him smile in the darkness.

* * *

Only a few short weeks had passed before they had risen one evening from dinner as patronus' arrived by the army, and battle was announced.

Pansy had taken one look at Bill and Fleur and asked, no demanded, that she would be going with them. Harry needed her. They couldn't say no even if they had tried to force her to, and they didn't dare try.

And she had pretended otherwise, as she fought alongside Harry's side at Hogwarts, that she did not recognize former friends, classmates, family, people she had known her whole life. If someone said something to her, she stared at them blankly, impassively, and did what she could to push them back, to stun them and knock them aside and out of her way so she didn't have to _think_ about it.

This was the end, the end of everything, and she wanted it to be her new beginning after it was over.

And then it was over.

* * *

"I loved you, so much, Pansy," his voice was broken, shoulders sagging. Draco was disturbingly thin, his cheekbones more prominent, eyes with hollows beneath them. "I still love you, even though I hate you. It wasn't enough though, was it?"

They were standing in the Great Hall. Voldemort had fallen, Harry was just as good as their new Lord and savior, and she was finally free.

Draco had, interestingly, turned and sided with Harry at the end.

"No," she felt a tear roll down her cheek, her heart aching. "It wasn't. Your love hurt, Draco, our world, and our choices…it hurt. Loving me was something, but our actions and our choices…that was what was wrong with it."

"You loved me, too, didn't you?" His lip trembled and she watched him try not to cry.

"Without a doubt," she smiled despite herself. "You were my first love."

"But now you love _him_ ," his gaze fell on Harry, across the hall, was talking to Hagrid and pretending like he wasn't watching them.

"Yes," she said simply.

"Why do you love him?"

She watched Harry brushed his hair from his eyes. His glasses were cracked, and dusty. He looked tired, and their eyes met. She smiled gently. "He protected me even when he hated me, even when everyone told him to stay away from me. He loves me even though he knows what I've done, and he believes in me. He makes me want to be better."

She sensed more than saw Draco flinch at that. "Oh, Draco, loving him has nothing to do with you. I love him because I do, because I fell in love with him in a very different way than I fell in love with you. Why does it have to be a comparison? Why does there have to be a bigger reason other than I love him, and I once loved you?"

"You chose him."

"Yes I did, and I would every time. I just know in my heart…its Harry; it's always going to be Harry. It doesn't make it any less sad, to let you go, but I know this is how it is supposed to be."

Draco took a shuddering breath. "I meant what I said, that I hate you. I do, truly, but…I still love you enough to want you to be happy. So go on, Pansy, be happy."

"Thank you, Draco," she walked over and hugged him before she could stop herself. He stiffened for a moment before wrapping his arms around her, squeezing her tight. She felt tears falling from her eyes as his shoulders shook. "Please, be happy too."

Draco didn't say anything as he extracted himself from her. His eyes trained on her face, almost as if he were studying it, committing it to memory, before he turned on his heel and left the Great Hall.

Harry found her a few moments later, his hand taking hers easily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Are you okay?"

She turned to look into his beautiful green eyes, pure and safe and him…

"I'll be okay," she smiled, squeezing his hand tighter. "I'm ready to start living now."

"Oh, and what a beautiful life you are going to have, Pansy Parkinson," he kissed her temple. "What a beautiful life."

She smiled despite herself.

* * *

" _I love you," he breathed against her ear. It was Christmas break and they were on holiday with their families. She had snuck into his bedroom that night and they had taken each other's virginities._

" _I love you, too, Draco," a tear had fallen down her face as she smiled. "So much."_

" _It's you and me, forever, Pansy Parkinson," he had murmured sleepily against her skin, his arms tightening around her. "Never forget that."_

* * *

AN: I struggled with this for a long time, but this is the ending of Unremembered. I hope it was worth the wait, but I needed this out of my system so I could work on other things. Thank you for reading.


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